Violet Passion
by Charisma2
Summary: BetsyWarren right aftersomewhat during Crimson Dawn. This is just something I'm playing around with. Might evolve into more.


Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own any of these characters.

Notes: Getting into the writing business again. Hopefully I'll have more time to continue and I won't get severe writers block. This is just me playing around a little. Hopefully it will evolve into something more.'

The dreams that possessed her while she was flitting in and out of consciousness were sporadic, hard to piece together and generally jumbled. She saw light, blueish and heavenly, swirling with a lavender energy that only she could associate with. And then, everything faded. When things were brought clearer again she saw Warren. Her dear Warren. But his face was mangled and his wings were but gnarled skeletons of what they once were, majestic and graceful. She was glad when this image left her and she coated in the darkness once more. Each time that an image presented itself, it would get duller and duller. Until the last image was one that she had to strain to see. Creed. His hulking form but a whisper of its former self. But it was growing and mutating, shifting and altering. Consuming her to where she couldn't turn from it. Arms bound, wrists bleeding, she couldn't fight, couldn't defend. She just had to be there while he consumed and overwhelmed her. All she could remember thinking before thought was no more is that it shouldn't end like this.

And then...life. Hot and real. Full of passion. It was almost as though her essence was shoved back into her body. Like it was halted in her tracks by some unseen force and thrust without further apologies whether it wanted to go or not. She felt Warren, tasted his essence through this link that had brought her back to herself.

Her other comrades in the room were forced back by an invisible hand as a ruby essence exploded from under the sheet. A gasp of breath was heard and olive colored limbs flailed for a second as though she was trying to regain her balance. Then, she was still. Monitors began sputtering to life as her vital signs showed a woman of normal health who engages in regular intense exercise.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it was like she was seeing things all over again. Her senses weren't really heightened, but they were sharper. And she was confused. Lavender eyes peered down at her form that was clothed in little more than a hospital gown, and yet nothing seemed to be wrong with her. Her eyes hurt, as though someone had flashed a bright camera in them without giving her proper warning. The faces of her comrades were near priceless if she could shake the feeling that something had happened. Dr. Hank McCoy, resident genius had a clip board in his hands and was looking at a monitor that undoubtedly red her vital signs. Even Gambit, who had a plan for every situation looked as though he saw a ghost. Professor Xavier however, was merely looking at her like she had done exactly as he had anticipated her to do. For some reason, that pretty face of hers tilted towards the ground. A sheet was lying there, a sheet that only moments before had covered her lifeless body. Something in that sheet triggered it. Either that or Xavier was playing a mean trick on her, igniting those thoughts. It all poured back into her. The fight with Sabertooth, how sure she was that she could beat him this time. How cocky she had been. Her last thoughts as she lost consciousness, some inkling of satisfaction as she realized that he wouldn't get to hear her scream. A small thing since it was he who was victor over her limp body. Hank was the first to break the silence, as she was trying to figure out exactly why there were no marks on her body from the fight.

"My dear, I must say it is good to have you back. It looks like your winged avenger has come through once again." It seemed that with his animation, the others broke from their stupor as well. Hank set the clipboard down and went over to a screen, mumbling under his breath something along the lines of 'remarkable.'

Silently, like a cat approaching a mouse that was just dead moments before, Gambit walked up to her. "Gambit seen some magic tricks in his day, chere. But dis one takes de cake." He raised a partially gloved hand and ran it over the left side of her face, simultaneously placing a lock behind her ears. "You been marked, chere." The motion, despite it's appearances of being affectionate, lacked a certain warmth that usually came with such motions. He stepped away then, running a hand over his perpetual stubble that lingered on the angular lines of his chin. A smooth gait took him to the entrance of the medlab, and he leaned against it. He almost looked a little antsy, and Betsy could imagine that if he could, he would be lighting up a cigarette right about now.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" That smooth British accent of hers clipped the words off in their familiar way. It was odd to see such a sound come from the sharp features in her oriental face. But those who knew her were used to it by now. It was Charles Xavier who answered her, his expression thoughtful.

"Approximately 10 hours ago you slipped into unconsciousness after a fight with Sabertooth. Since then your condition has been deteriorating rapidly. About 3 hours ago Archangel along with Wolverine and Dr. Strange took a trip to Little Asia in order to obtain some of the Crimson Dawn. The only thing that held a chance to save your life."

"The remarkable thing is..." Hank chirped in from where he was rummaging around in a bin off to the side of the group. "...that approximately ten minutes ago I legally declared you dead."

This revelation sent chills down her spine, but still she remained silent. Listening. She had heard of Crimson Dawn, and what it did to people. It was suppose to give life, but there was always a price. A few seconds later, bounding around with more grace than something his size should have, Hank produces a mirror and holds it in front of the Britisian beauty. Fingers slowly rise to her smooth olive complexion. There wasn't a mark on her face from the fight. There was however, another mark. A crimson ...tattoo? It felt permanent enough over her left eye. Starting in the middle of her forehead and extending well below the fringe of her lower lashes. It was almost in the shape of a lightening bolt. But nothing so cliché.

"I see..." That was all that she could utter as Hank pulled the mirror away and put it back on top of a pile of books.

"Ah t'ink it's kinda sexy, chere. Makes ya have de whole femme fatale t'ing goin' on." His voice was teasing, a way for him to break the ice that had formed around the room. Those eyes slid into his direction and she couldn't help but smirk as the smoke from a freshly lit cigarette started filling the room. Hank turned sharply, having previously been submerged in his work and shot a glare at the Cajun. He didn't have to be told twice. With another long drag, looking as though he was savoring every second, he dropped the cigarette on the floor and punched it out with the toe of his boot. Much to the chagrin of Dr. McCoy, who just made an exasperated sound and turned his back to the scene.

Betsy knew what was suppose to happen. Amusement should fill her and take the edge off of the situation. Just like it always did when their resident comedians filled the silence with a witty comment. Of course, this time it was different. She was just numb. Cold in fact. But it had nothing to do with her lack of clothing and the slightly frigid temperature of the room. She didn't see the slight worry appear on the Cajun's handsome face as he watched her sigh, and scoot back down into a laying position, eyes falling closed over those bright orbs of hers.

She wasn't really tired. She just felt mentally exhausted. Of course, instead of laying low and letting herself rest like she knew she should...she wanted to contact her Angel. Even though he had changed his codename back to Archangel, she still couldn't let herself call him that. Sometimes it would cause him to send a slightly irate look towards her, but she knew that he didn't mind too much. They had a link, and while it felt different than it had before, she relished in the fact that it was there. Something comforting and familiar that she could take solace in. Reaching down the link, and attempting to strengthen it as her contact with him drew nearer, she tentatively sent out her first words.

Warren?

It didn't take long at all for him to reply. His mental voice couldn't betray the excitement or surprise that he felt.

Bets? Are you okay?

She could have melted right then and there, how much comfort she derived from his voice in her head. They said I died Warren. When are you coming back? Again, that emotionless sinking feeling. She almost died and it was surreal. Like she couldn't feel it.

We'll be there shortly. He couldn't mask the worry that he felt, and it passed right on down their link and covered her like a cold splash of water.

She fell silent. Unsure of what she felt or how this was going to work out. It came as a when the warm darkness of sleep seeped into her consciousness. It was an even bigger one when she willingly gave into that small comfort.

Getting into a Jeep that they had borrowed for the trip. Warren sighs in obvious relief after his conversation with Betsy. "She is alright, my friends." To the other two with him it looked as if a huge boulder had been lifted from the shoulders of the winged man. "Thank you." The humble reply came from the lips as he directed his gaze out the window. Logan, who had occupied the driver's seat reached over to pat him on the back, twice and encompassing as much compassion as Logan could muster.

"Ain't nothin' that she wouldn't've done fer any of us."

Okie dokie TBC! Please, and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. I'm usually a Rogue/Gambit gal, but my interest has evolved somewhat.


End file.
